


I Had Choices - Peter Newkirk

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [58]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: I 'ad choices, you know.  I really did, wasn't like I didn't.  I can look back to when it 'appened too, when I decided on one road, off away from where I thought I'd end up.  It's been twelve years now, more or less, since I made the choice, so I've 'ad time to look back on it, think on whether it was the best, the right choice.  Let me tell you . . .





	I Had Choices - Peter Newkirk

I had choices, you know. I really did, wasn't like I didn't. I can look back to when it 'appened too, when I decided on one road, off away from where I thought I'd end up. It's been twelve years now, more or less, since I made the choice, so I've 'ad time to look back on it, think on whether it was the best, the right choice. Let me tell you . . .

Spending my days on a farm, sheep, cows, 'orses, crops and all? Well, no, not anything I'd considered in my early days; woulda laughed in your face if you'd even mentioned that as a possibility. I'm a Londoner, you see, from the East End, poorest of the poor some say about the East End, riff raff, the lotta them, a dangerous place to be, to live, an easy place to die right quick if you aren't bloody careful and bloody lucky to boot. From there to a Welsh farm, in the middle of nowhere?? Well, via a bit a time in quod, a tour in the RAF and an overlong time in a German Prisoner of War Camp, acourse.

Even in the camp, when the letters started arriving, after they'd been found after being lost for so long, when 'er stories of this place offered me someplace peaceful to think on, an escape from the alternating grinding monotony and adrenaline rush and blinding terror, I never really seriously planned on ending up 'ere. Always thought I'd be back in London, doing my usual, doing my magic act, running the cards, bits of this and that. Maybe visit 'ere, acourse, after all she'd told me about it; seeing 'er again, yes, that I wanted to do for sure, but STAY? Not likely! Still, 'ere I ended up at the end of the war, sick, 'ardly able to stand on my own two feet, with no other place to go, only to find Maudie and Marisol 'ere too. 

Except for some odd starts that came from the rage and depression that were part of the sickness, never came to the point of thinking much about leaving, not til 'e came for that visit, 'im and Kinch and Louie, and that was months after I'd got 'ere. Andrew 'ad already been 'ere for a few weeks visiting by then, thanks to Caeide, and we'd decided to ask Andrew to come live 'ere as well, though 'e'd not made up 'is mind yet. Yes, I still 'ad some odd kicks to me, things to get straight in my mind; you don't get over 'owever many years in a prisoner of war camp in a trice, but I was coming on content, 'appy even, especially with Andrew 'ere.

Then, the Colonel, well, by then 'e was a General acourse, General Robert 'ogan, charming, confident, 'andsome as ever, ready to take charge again, just like before. Knowing just what I, what everybody should be doing, just like before. 'Don't question me, just do what I say, I'm in charge, I know whats best,' General Robert 'ogan; yes, that one, the one with 'is picture in the papers all the time, society pages mostly it seems.

'E'd offered me a choice, outside a the ones I 'ad on my own I mean; invited me to come with 'im, join 'im in the 'game'. Us against the bad guys, like before. Made it sound like a bloody adventure, 'e did; thing is, after I'd got over being so sick, well, my memory was pretty good, though there were still some odd blanks, some fuzzy places. Yes, some of it 'ad seemed that way, like an adventure, what the team managed to pull off against the krauts, but more 'ad been a bloody nightmare.

I stood in front of that pier glass that night, after 'e'd made 'is offer, looked at myself, my face, my body. I'd done that a lot in the early days after coming 'ere, not so much since then, coming closer to just accepting what was, the changes that 'ad come. I look now and I see much the same as I saw then; scars, too many, eyes that 'ave seen too much, body that cramps and aches with the cold and wet and whenever I get too tired or work too 'ard for too long. And my 'ands, my 'magic fingers'? Those magician's 'ands that could open most any safe, pick any pocket, forge documents like no one else, tailor a jacket to the perfect fit? Those 'ands? Well, those 'ands 'ave ridges and knots, veins sticking out, and can seize up on me right fast, being near to useless as can be. Sometimes, one of the others 'as to 'elp me even unbutton my shirt when that 'appens.

That last few months in the camp, always on me, 'e was, about the things those 'ands just couldn't seem to do anymore; always acting like I wasn't taking care of them proper, if I'd just SEE to them, I'd get back to being my old self. Right, like the cold, and the wet, and the 'eat and the bad food and the digging and the abuse, it was all something I chose for myself. Like I wanted the arthritis to set in in my early thirties, me, whose 'ands were my livelihood, my pride. And my lungs? Never my strong point, and the camp pretty well finished the job. Always just a chill away from them filling up, putting me flat on me back, maybe never getting up again if it aint tended to real quick.

Just 'ow much bloody 'elp was I supposed to be to 'im in 'is bloody game now?? First time my 'ands fail me, I get sick again? What then? 'E 'ad to 'ave known all that; one thing the gov wasn't, was stupid. 

And the rest, reminding me of 'us', me and 'im, well, that time in 'is room, that was sweet enough, alright. Made me think of the early times, when 'e wanted me and I wanted 'im, and we made it right for each other in whatever little space of time we could find to be alone in that crowded miserable prisoner of war camp.

That changed too, I remember that as well. The times . . . well, let's just say 'e wasn't so careful to make it right later on, in fact, took as much pleasure in making sure it wasn't, at least for me, especially if I'd displeased 'im in some way. Came to seem toward the end as if 'urting me was more the aim than anything, though it brought 'im off well enough, as I remember, though not me; never thought pain was something to be sought after, even before Germany, and after all those sessions with the guards, the Gestapo, everything else, sure as bloody 'ell, not after then!

Yes, I remember that, no matter 'ow sweet 'e treated me after 'e came to visit. 

Was like it'd been when we were up to our monkey business back in Germany, 'im watching, appraising, seeing everything, making plans. Was watching me, then, 'e was, I could feel it, I could, seeing 'ow I was reacting to 'im, seeing what 'e could make me feel, 'ow much 'e could make me want 'im. Well, a lot, just like 'e always could, when 'e was of a mind to, no matter what I remembered, all the reasons I shouldn't've felt that way. Put me to mind of what Caeide'd said 'er father'd said once, that the body doesn't always understand the same things the mind understands, and the mind can't always override what the body is feeling; or some such thing; she'd probably be able to tell you better. Still, you know what I mean. It felt good; it just didn't feel right.

I knew then, just like I'd watched 'im run all those cons in Germany, this time, I was the one 'e was running it on. I knew, no matter 'ow much I didn't want to believe it. 'E was the Gov, 'e shouldn't 'ave been running the con on me, on any of us; it just shouldn't BE! Think it was then I started remembering a lot of things about the camp, things that shouldn't 'ave been, things I'd tried to NOT remember. And it made me wonder just 'ow much I 'AD been able to forget, put out of my mind. A little scary, that.

Always watching Caeide, Maudie and Marisol, 'e was, putting em down; laughing, telling me they'd softened me, weakened me, were using me for their own ends. Let me tell you, those three, they're the reason I'm alive right now, well, them and Andrew, alive and sane and able to be useful again, able to take pride in myself again. Any idea 'ow important that is? When your 'ands are your livelihood, and they stop doing what you ask them to do, stop being able to do all the things they used to, any idea 'ow that makes you feel, 'ow it lessens your self-respect? 

Was in a bloody miserable way when I got 'ere at the end of the war, coming straight off that transport ship after the camp was liberated; lungs gone rotten again, raging fever from the infection from that bullet to the shoulder that never 'ealed up right, gut twisted into knots, exhausted, bruised and battered from those wearing the same uniform as me who thought I'd turned traitor and letting me know right certain what they thought about it, no food for days, well except what old Giles, bless 'im, had shared with me in that little travel station, the tag end of 'is sandwich and a swallow of tea to wash down two of those oh so rare aspirin tablets; took weeks before I could get outta that bed even to sit in a chair, sometimes thought I never would. Weeks afore I could get downstairs even with 'elp, months more before I was strong enough to fend for myself, start trying my 'and at things around 'ere. 

I know they watch out for me, them and Andrew too. I get too chilled, too wet, my lungs start to shut down on me, like always; first sign, they've got that special tea to keep it from getting really bad, plus all else they do, the massaging the lungs front and back, the soups, and all. Caeide's comfrey creme she makes and uses on my 'ands and joints; that keeps me going, and never like it's a chore for 'er to tend to me, never; often turns it into something that makes it a pure joy, 'er and Andrew both now, bless em. They organize the work, trying to keep me away from that which would prove risky - no grinding the flour, or working with the 'ayfields, with all that dust to breathe in; no lingering in the cold or wet if it can be avoided; nothing that abuses my 'ands 'ours on end as some of the work would be likely to. They take extra on themselves to be sure that doesn't 'appen, though I've been able to take on other things, things they'd been doing, in return. 

Understand, I do my share; I don't doubt that, not anymore, though it took awhile for me to come to understand that. We're a bloody good team, we are. Turns out I've skills, talents I never thought I 'ad, things I'm bloody good at, that I can still do that 'aven needs done. I may not be able to pick a pocket, but I can turn a lamb or calf that's stuck in birthing; lord 'elp me, even turned our son, when 'e was crosswise, though I though I'd near stop breathin at the thought! Wouldn't try to open a safe, but I can milk, cows or sheep, better than any else 'ere. I pretty well took over the office, the records, dealing with the suppliers, the other enclaves. There's lots I do, and do well; they respect me for what I do; and I can take pride in what I do. That, well, that means more than I can ever tell. 

They dealt with my moods, the depression, the anger, the nightmares and all the bleedin rest of it; dealt with it and never let me get away with feeling sorry for myself for long, with thinking I was a burden to them. Weren't above slapping me upside my stubborn 'ead, if need be, in that cause.

Called it 'softening' me, 'e did, 'weakening' me; I call it caring about me, loving me, and that's not something to be discounted, no, it's not. I know that, sure as anything. Can count on my fingers the number of those in my life caring that much, maybe having a few, more than a few left over in the counting. I'm not like Andrew, you know, the loveable type that most take to easily. I'm stubborn, am a complainer, 'ave a temper and a smart mouth, and there are those who say those are some of my better points, you know!

Sneering at my Caeide, because she's not fashionable and elegant and don't wear those fine clothes like the fancy women he trots around with now, and comes in all mussed and dirty and such from the work she does. Well, I'd like to see one of those deal with what she deals with 'ere, get done all she gets done. Like to see one of them build what she's built 'ere, truly a 'safe 'aven' for those she cares about. And it's not like she can't do the elegant thing; she knows 'ow to dress, do 'er 'air all fancy, talk and act like the proper society lady, can carry it off with the best of em, but not 'ere, it's not the place for it, now is it?

And I wonder if any of those fancy women would've done for me all she's done, all she's put up with while I've been trying to get my 'ead on straight. Always there, always loving me, going so far in that sometimes I can't believe all she's done, made possible, what she was willing to do, deal with. Loving me, almost from the beginning, so many years ago. Took me a long time to accept that; well, I've accepted it as much as I can, thought I don't know that I'll ever understand it.

Maybe I don't need to understand it; it just is. Talked to Goniff some about that; seems 'e's in the same boat with Meghada, not knowing why she chose 'im to love, no more than Craig, and that's what 'e ended up doing, just accepted what is, and feeling damned lucky for it to be so.

Louie, 'e said 'e thought trying to get me to leave, it was as much the General wanting to 'urt Caeide as it was wanting me with 'im, especially since she don't let 'im dictate to 'er, don't let 'im rule over 'er. Think that's about right; 'e don't fancy anyone who don't let 'im run the show, and 'e'd gotten where 'e enjoyed that, and Caeide? Well, 'e'd resented 'er from the days in camp, when 'e figured out she meant something to me, that I meant something to 'er. Right nasty 'e was to 'er in the camp, when she showed up there, right nasty 'e was to 'er during 'is visit, too. Said things, cruel things, things there was no reason to say, though my Caeide, she's strong enough not to let 'im bother 'er much, except for some of that maybe 'urting me or Andrew.

Found out 'e'd said some right cruel things to Andrew as well, that visit, and in letters 'e sent later. Didn't find that out then, probably wouldn't let 'im leave as peaceably as 'e did, though that wasn't all that peaceable, 'im making a right fuss when I told 'im I'd not be leaving with 'im. The General 'ad an actual temper tantrum, like a bleedin two year old! Don't believe me? Well, what would you call yellin, flipping a big table over on its back, glasses and bottle of whiskey, cards and all going flying. More breakage than we'd counted on, though we'd known 'e'd not be too pleased at my answer.

Tried to make sure Andrew didn't join us 'ere; thankfully that didn't work, though it took time to 'eal the damage 'e did there. Andrew, my Andrew, my friend, my luv, 'e came to join us two weeks after that visit ended; joined me in my bed not long after; in Caeide's bed along with me within two months. 

The loving, it's as good and rich and full as it can get; we sometimes struggle with figuring each other out, especially since we come from such different lives, but never 'ave we purposefully tried to 'urt one another, not in any way, never done anything other than try to make things good for each other. Adventuresome we can get, that's true, but it's of our own choosing, our own business, each being able to put a 'alt to anything not pleasing. That 'as 'appened maybe once, twice I can remember, though, in all these years, and both times caused by flashbacks to some bad things with others, from the war, not from us now; like I said, we try to make things good for each other.

So, a choice I was given, to go off and do great things, and probably die in a 'blaze of glory' or maybe die of pneumonia in a ditch somewhere or perhaps die in some new prison camp, maybe Russian or Chinese or some other variety this time, or at best, get kicked out of the military and left to wander alone til I drank myself to death or ran afoul of someone who'd take care of that little chore for me; or, to live 'ere, doing nothing great, nothing of any real importance, 'ere with these people the General said were just using me, not really caring, not like 'E did. So I 'ad a choice.

Twelve years it's been since I made my choice, twelve years and more of being a part of 'aven, of all it means, of being a member of the family - Caeide, Andrew, Maudie, Marisol, the sisters and brothers and all the rest.

And the youngsters, oh yes, the youngsters. Never thought to be a father, never thought I'd dare for fear I'd end up a right bastard at it like my own was; but it 'appened, more than once. Eight times in fact; well, four TIMES, eight youngsters since we tend to do twins. Louisa and Kat and Morgana, all looking so like Caeide, dark red 'air and that light scattering of freckles across the nose. Jamie and Scotty looking like me; Karl, Liam and Colin, so like Andrew. Yes, WE are fathers, Andrew and me, and you know, we're bloody good at it. WE have eight children, Andrew and Caeide and me. Still shake my 'ead at the thought. Shake my 'ead and thumb my nose at the old bastard who was my own father.

So, yes, I 'ad choices, and while I never thought to end up on a bloody farm? I 'ave no regrets about that, none. I sit at the end of a day's work, look around the table, at the faces around me, and I 'ave no regrets. I reach out my arms at night, and feel them close to me, my Caeide, my Andrew, and I 'ave no regrets.


End file.
